


When A Canary Stops Singing

by jojosiewa



Series: MCYT Short Stories [1]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Betrayal, Character Death, Dead animals, Death, Gen, Guilt, Holocaust, Murder, Symbolism, WWII, World War II, dead birds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-22
Updated: 2018-11-22
Packaged: 2019-08-27 18:57:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16708159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jojosiewa/pseuds/jojosiewa
Summary: What is your dead bird, and what is your canary?





	When A Canary Stops Singing

**Author's Note:**

> I made the characters really vague and left it open to interpretation so here's a little key if ur here for mcyt:  
> Silence (Narrator)=Ty  
> Canary=Adam  
> Ice=Ian  
> Jay=Jason
> 
> Warnings:  
> •This story is about murder, and guilt, and inner demons.  
> •This story is post-wwii, so it occasionally mentions Nazis and concentration camps and hate crimes against Jewish people.  
> •This story describes strangulation, albeit not very well. Skip as needed.  
> •This story made me cry while writing it.  
> •This story could be graphic to some people. As I said, skip or skim as needed.  
> •This story is symbolic in a way. I think it's pretty clear cut, but feel free to ask. I could've completely goofed it and fucked it up. Do not get mad at yourself for not understanding.

It was 1945, in the summer. It was hot and unforgiving, and I wasn't quite happy with the bustling of people in the dense city I resided in.

I was German, so I had to change my name and seem unassuming when I came back from the war to live in Manhattan. I didn't speak too much English back then, but I could always understand it clearly. For that reason, I didn't often speak to any of my colleagues, and I was referred to as the silent knight, in the line of work I found myself in.

I was no knight.

A man approached me on the street one day, and asked me if I wanted a cigarette. He was Russian. His eyes were blue and his light brown hair was matted and unclean. I shook my head and kept walking. He stopped me.

"Listen. I know your name and your address. We've been watching you for a long time now. We know your war reputation, and we'd really like to have a chat with you."

This man was short and frankly the opposite of intimidating to someone like me. But his words peaked my interest.

I fought as a Nazi in the war, not because I wanted to, but because I didn't want to end up dead. I was afraid they'd kill me if I didn't join their army.

I killed so many soldiers, I lost count. My eyesight was perfect. I was in the war for all four years, I wore that red armband, and I killed people with families. I was stone cold by the time the war ended, but silently glad my side lost. I donated some money anonymously to the effort of getting Jews back in homes and back to their families, though I didn't think much of it.

This commie in front of me wanted my ability to kill without mercy. Or, his boss did.

"Sir, follow me."

And I did, half out of curiosity. He led me between buildings, and to a door that blended in with the wall. He knocked in the most peculiar way; rapid, with both knuckles, but with some sense of rhythm. The door opened, and we walked in.

The man sitting at the desk was smoking a cigar. He was big, and had a gnarly scar that ran down one side of his face and over his glassy blue right eye. His other eye was dark, dull blue. His hair was slicked back, and he was shaven and clean.

"Hello sir, have a seat."

I sat across from him, ignoring the figures moving around the dark small room.

"I know your English is limited, so just listen and nod." The man took his cigar out of his mouth and tapped it. Ash fell on the table, and I trained my eyes on it.

"We have nicknames here, mine's Ice, his is Jay." He pointed to the Russian. "Or commie, we call him both."

"Thanks, Ice," Jay said, sarcastically. I grinned a little and looked back at Ice. I wondered why he was called Ice. Was it because his eye looked icy blue?

"Anyway, we want to recruit you. You are a very powerful man, and we've had our eyes on you. We cannot tell you many things, and I apologize for the obscurity, but we must stay low. We need your help to... assassinate someone, as one might say."

I wanted to tell Ice I was done with killing, but my interest was peaking, and my heart was beating so fast in my chest. Could it be possible that I missed the raw warfare? The gunshots, the adrenaline?

"Are you willing?"

It took me a few seconds to realize he had asked me a question. I snapped out of it.

"Who." My limited vocabulary annoyed me.

Jay slid a picture over to me, and I lifted it up and stared at the smiling man. "You'll know him when you see him." The photo was black and white; he was dressed in what looked like stripes, and he was shaking hands with what looked like an American soldier. His smile was so bright it made me forget the endless terrors of our world. The date on the back of the Polaroid was... right after the war ended. It hit me.

"Jew. He is Jewish. That... is why?" I had a sneaking suspicion that this group I was talking to was filled with hidden Nazis, running from the lost war.

"I cannot tell you why we want this man dead. I just need you to be a hitman. Get rid of him."

My heart was beating in my throat. He must've been twenty something. Was he in a conspiracy? Was he a spy?

I gulped, and I couldn't imagine how he could smile so brightly. The picture must've been taken right after he was rescued from a concentration camp after the nazis scrambled away at the end of the war.

"One Jew, you must've killed hundreds of soldiers. What's the harm in one Jew? Get to know him a little, so he'll invite you into his home. I don't care how you do it, just don't trace it back to us."

"You could draw a swastika on the wall to make it seem like a hate crime," Jay mumbled, and I saw that even he seemed a bit shaken by his own words.

"I cannot know why?" I asked, hoping that I was saying the right words.

"Correct."

I was going to say no. I looked at the man and wondered how helpless he felt in that camp. I was already going to hell, why would I...

I heard a gun click.

"I know what you're thinking. But let me assure you, that this is not voluntary."

I looked up and there was a barrel of a gun between my eyes. I put the picture down, and nodded. "Okay."

"Good boy. Your name is Silence, after the deed is done there's no need to worry. Lay low, buy yourself a better apartment."

My heart was beating, and I couldn't say no.

I was going to kill one more man for a reason I was not quite sure of.

\/\/\

Jay was my partner. We would kill him after observing his daily pattern, and that alone would take a little while. We did not know his real name, but I wanted to call him something.

Jay and I were sitting at a bar, close to him, but not too close. He turned his head and I saw that he had bright golden eyes, full of life. He was talking to the bartender, laughing. He had deep dimples, and he squinted when he smiled, making little wrinkles at the corner of his eyes.

He was drinking a Shirley Temple. No alcohol.

If I had been through the horrors he had been through, I'd be drinking nonstop. I was impressed at him.

I ordered whiskey and I drank in silence, soaking in the bar atmosphere.

After a few glasses I started calling him Shirley.

I leaned over and told Jay he should think about what way we should off the guy, and get supplies. I'd follow him around and see what was up. I spoke in my garbled English, and I think he understood the gist of it.

He got up and payed, and he left.

It wasn't long before Shirley and I were alone in the bar. I decided it was time for me to leave, and just wait for him outside. He came out soon after I did, and he walked home.

I wanted to speak to him; after all, Ice had said to get to know him just a little, enough so that he'd let me in voluntarily.

But I couldn't speak English properly. And beyond that, he must recognize a German accent. What if I terrify him to high hell? I couldn't. I shouldn't.

For a while I was so occupied with those thoughts of scaring him that I forgot I was going to kill him.

I followed him to his apartment, and I was shocked to see that he lived in the same building I did. That made things easier.

I had to say something.

"Hello," I mumbled, and he turned to me and smiled the way he did. "Hi, pleasure to meet you!"

I waved and smiled, and when he waved back, I saw a tattooed serial number on his arm. I felt like throwing up.

I wanted to tell him to run.

"I am in... same... level." I pointed to him and me. We were; I had followed him up the stairs and we were both standing in front of room 229, at the end of the hall. I hadn't realized I had followed him this far, but at least now I knew which room he was in. I was across the hall at 221.

My German accent didn't faze him. "Why, yes, we are! It's a shocker that I haven't noticed you before!"

"I am... just knowing neighbors." Neighbors was my word of the day, Jay taught it to me.

Shirley held out his hand. I thought I'd get a name out of him. But I didn't.

"So nice to know my neighbors. Have a good night."

He opened the door after shaking my hand, and when he did, there was a quiet chirping noise coming from inside. I saw a small yellow bird in a cage. He sighed at it. "Poor thing is getting quieter every day. Hey, girl,"

It was a canary, small, yellow, and pretty.

"Like birds?"

"Yes, very much," the man with the yellow eyes smiled kindly at the bird, and then to me. "I found him during the war. Both of us were far from home."

And that's how I decided I'd call him Canary.

I said my goodbyes and walked across the hall. It felt like forever until I got to my apartment, and closed the door behind me. I leaned against it and slid down, sitting down and staring blankly ahead.

I couldn't sleep.

\/\/\

The next day there was a knock at my door.

It was only Jay.

"I know how we should do it. It should be quiet, no mess," Jay put down a duffel bag. "You're strong, right? You could strangle him. With gloves. But if not, I've got a few things."

"Do you want to do this, Jay?"

Jay looked up at me.

"What do you think?"

I looked back at him, terribly tired.

"But I also don't want to die."

Jay threw some leather gloves at me. "Get some sleep and think about when we can get this over with."

I looked at the gloves, and he left. I put the gloves on and held my hands out, wrapping them around a blanket and pressing my thumbs down.

I sat down and looked at the blanket I was strangling. It was yellow and small.

I hugged it and was able to fall asleep, despite it being morning.

\/\/\

I was able to pin him down with my body. He struggled, betrayal in his eyes. The canary chirped wildly from the cage. He stopped struggling at some point, and I heard him choking.

I heard myself choking him.

His golden eyes glassed over, and when I looked up at the cage, the canary had silenced.

It was dead at the bottom of the cage.

There was a knock at the door, and then I woke up.

I was in bed, with my new gloves, snug on my hands. I was wringing the blanket, and I was crying. I wiped my tears away and got up, opening the door.

Canary was there. He was smiling softly. "Hello, I like your gloves."

"Thanks."

"I was just, going downstairs to get some morning coffee. Since we're neighbors, I thought I could offer you some too."

"Oh... yes, thanks very much." I got out of my apartment, leaning against the door to close it. Canary walked with me downstairs. I forgot to ask what his real name was. I may have subconsciously not wanted to.

The lobby had a quaint cafe, and they had coffee. He ordered decaf, and I ordered black.

We sat at a table by each other. It was hard to talk to him about anything, but he was patient, and kind.

I was only doing what I was supposed to, right? Getting to know him so that he'd let me in.

Right?

\/\/\

I am willing to admit I became a bit obsessed with Canary. Yet, I never learned his real name. We talked a lot, over two weeks. I wore the gloves everywhere, and to this day I don't really know why. Maybe it was to get myself ready for what I had to do.

What I had to do.

I argued with Jay constantly about when to do it. I was stalling, I was. When I killed soldiers, I saw them for an instant. I didn't get attached, it didn't matter. I knew they had families, I knew things like that, believe it or not.

But Canary always smiled. He was no soldier. He was a victim of war, an innocent man. I tried to tell myself that he was being killed for a reason; but was he?

I got increasingly angry with Ice, Jay, and whatever this stupid organization was. Oh, the things I didn't know.

And it wasn't until two weeks later, at one of our chats at the cafe, that I knew it was time. I wasn't a deeply superstitious man, but what Canary said that day was a sign.

"My poor girl has stopped singing. I mean, female canaries don't sing as much but when they do it's beautiful. My girl has stopped."

"The bird stopped singing?" My English had improved by a lot. "Why don't you let her go?"

"She wouldn't survive, she's been used to being fed."

"Oh my."

I rubbed my leather gloves together under the table, wringing them nervously.

My heart was beating again. I already felt the adrenaline.

Canary, young and innocent and nice and small and happy... would die by the end of the day.

I let him go to his part time job, organizing books at the library. I sat on my bed and stared at the wall nearly the whole day.

The canary stopped singing.

At three forty five, I got up. An unseen force willed my body to leave my room and walk across the seemingly long hallway. My steps were stiff, my head pounding. I was hungry, thirsty, and about to kill a man.

One man. Come on, you are Silence. They called you Silence, and you are able to kill one more man.

Even a helpless Canary in a cage.

I knocked on his door, and he answered, smiling again at me. "Good friend, what brings you here?"

Don't call me that.

"May I come in." It came out as more of a demand then a question, and I cursed myself. I must've looked terrible.

"You seem ill, is everything alright?" He let me in, and I closed the door behind me, and turned the lock.

I was not going to waste time.

"I'm going to tell you now, that this is not because I'm German. And this is not because you're Jewish."

The most odd look came about his face. He barely seemed shocked at all, and only for a moment. He relaxed, and eyed my hands. His arms went up, slowly. "God bless your soul," he breathed. "They sent you."

He knew of his fate. He knew who it was who was killing him, and why. I did not.

"How will you go about it?" His calm made me calm. "Something quiet, I hope?"

"Quiet, yes." I stepped closer, and he stepped away. "I was just about to feed my bird."

I thought of this. "Go ahead."

"Some in the morning, some in the afternoon." He opened the cage and opened a bag of birdseed, filling a little paper cup and placing it in the cage. The canary didn't chirp. "Bye, girl."

He closed the cage and looked back. "Should I fight?" It hurt me to see his eyes so vacant of light.

"It would probably be better if you didn't. I'll try to make it fast."

Canary nodded.

"Good friend... is this a hate crime against you? I've been pondering," I said, and he scoffed.

"Just do as you were told. No harm will come to you." He smiled at me, softly, with surprisingly calm eyes. "I knew, with all my misfortune, at the camp, with Ice and his men, that my time would come soon. I forgive you."

And then I lunged.

I had him on the ground, under me, and he grabbed my wrists as I wrapped my hands around his neck. He fought a little, but it seemed to be more out of instinct. It hurt me dearly, because it meant part of him still wasn't ready to die.

He was silent, except for a few quiet bumps when the soles of his shoes hit the ground. I shut my eyes and pushed my thumbs down harder. I just wanted it to end. I wanted him to stop feeling pain, I wanted...

His grip loosened, he went limp, and I opened my eyes. The last thing he did was brush some hair out of my eye, and then his arm fell with a thump, and he died, smiling.

He died smiling.

I couldn't help but cry. I gripped his shirt and I cried into his chest, and I begged for there to still be a heartbeat. I ran my fingers through his soft hair and I lifted him up into my arms, sobbing.

He was my friend.

My good friend.

It was so odd. Besides the bruises and his glazed eyes, there was no sign of him being dead. If I put him in bed, none would be the wiser until he started to decompose. Still, I needed to bury him. Cremate him?

I thought of it for a moment, and realized my mistake. Yeah, fucking cremate him like they did in the fucking camps. Good plan, idiot.

It was a long time before I let go of him. I shakily stood up, feeling sick. Very, very sick. I managed to get up and ring Jay from Canary's phone.

"Jay... he's gone."

"Silence, oh, Christ, I'll be right over."

"229."

"Okay."

I hung up, my mouth starting to feel watery. I stumbled to his bathroom, held my hair back, and then vomited into the toilet.

\/\/\

Jay and I took Canary's body, covered by a blanket, out in the dead of night. We could see nothing, but to anyone else we were carrying a thick rug.

"Where is his family?" I asked, a question that never came up at the cafe. Jay didn't look back at me.

"All dead. Gassed in the war."

I felt terrible, but I do remember being a little glad he was with his family.

We dug him a grave, far away from the city, and we lowered him in. Every shovel of dirt I put on top of him made my soul sink further.

I was going to hell.

At least I wouldn't have to face him.

"Come on. No use looking at it any longer." Jay started up his car, and I got in.

\/\/\

We ended up back in the apartment, cleaning meticulously.

"Hey, I'm gonna go. Stay all you want, it'll only make your demons stronger."

"Fucking commie, fuck off." I threw my shoe at him, and he stumbled back. He shook his head, left, and slammed the door behind him.

I got up and walked over to the birdcage, staring at the silent bird. "Hey, girl," I tried to coo softly like he did, but my voice came out different. Sinister.

I put my hand over my mouth and found myself to tears again.

"Fuck..."

I didn't want to speak ever again. Not while my friend was dead at my hands.

I picked up the birdcage before I left. I left no fingerprints, no evidence. They wouldn't trace it to me, they'd just think he ran away, or something.

I walked back across the hall, and I got into my apartment. I set the birdcage and birdseed down on my desk. "I'll hold onto her for you, is that okay?" I asked Canary.

There was no response.

"What the fuck am I doing."

\/\/\

I was in the cafe one day later, and I noticed something outside. I put a hand over my mouth, tears coming back to me.

A bird fell from the sky, right in front of the entrance.

I was hyperventilating, gulping down coffee. It was a coincidence, I was going crazy.

\/\/\

Three days later, I had to leave my apartment. Ice had given me a large sum of money, so I took the bird, what little belongings I had, and I moved to Brooklyn. It was closer to where Canary's body was, and I figured I'd escape the dying birds, which had become numbered.

But they were dying in Brooklyn too. And no one seemed to notice or care, but me.

In my new, bigger apartment, I returned home from a walk to hear the bird chirping.

"Wait, are you hungry, girl?" I asked, frozen. "You haven't, you haven't chirped in days. Is it the new place?"

The bird chirped louder, and louder, until my ears were ringing. My chest began to tighten, my eyes wide. "Hey now, what's wrong? I'll feed you, it's time to eat!"

My shaky hands scooped the cup into the seed and opened the cage, placing it in. I closed the cage and felt an odd sense of terror running up and down my back in waves. It wouldn't eat.

"Come on, girl, it's okay, he's a friend."

I gasped. The voice was not mine.

The bird stopped chirping, and nipped at the seed.

I shut my eyes and felt cold breath over my shoulder.

I turned around, and there he was.

Canary's hair was messy, unkept. His face was pale, his eyes dull. There were terribly dark bruises on his neck, and thin crescents where the nails of my thumbs had pierced him.

My whole body was shaking.

"I was looking for you, I looked in your apartment but all your stuff was gone."

I felt the tears run down, and he reached out and rubbed them away. "I finally thought to find my bird."

"Canary..." I cried, and Canary brought his cold body to mine, hugging me tightly. He shushed me and pet my hair, swaying me side to side.

I woke up in a cold sweat, in pitch black darkness. I put my hands over my eyes. "Oh thank god, just a dream."

And then, I heard someone whistling. It was choppy, but beautiful, like birdsong. I was stuck in bed, and I didn't dare move.

I needed to believe it was just someone outside. That's all it was, right?

No. It was in my room. And I could only stare at my ceiling, and try to ignore it, try to convince my brain it wasn't real, it wasn't there.

I know now it was real, to me, and it was there.

\/\/\

"You look like shit."

I was sitting outside. The dead birds were all around me now, falling occasionally. My hood was up and my eyes had bags. I hadn't slept in a long time.

Jay was standing next to me as I sat, hunched over, with my coffee.

I jumped when a dead pigeon slammed onto the table. "Jesus Christ, what the fuck is with the birds?" I asked, and Jay tilted his head.

"What birds?"

My eyes went wide, and I looked up. "What do you mean? You don't see them? Dead?"

Jay looked around. "No?"

I got up, and I sprinted, dropping my coffee in the process. I was stepping on birds, running into people, but I didn't care.

I needed to hold the yellow canary. Holding the canary always calmed me down, in the past few days.

I tripped, and fell, falling into a pile of dead birds, with a bad smell and dead eyes. I screamed and scrambled to my feet, stumbling the last few steps up to my apartment building. I pushed my way in and ran upstairs, but now the birds had followed me inside, and the stench was unbearable.

There were more, the closer I got. Outside my door, there was a huge mound, bird after bird after bird. I wanted to claw my eyes out.

I kept my eyes shut as I pushed my door open, and then closed it. I panted, heavily. "Girl..." I said shakily. "Girl, please. Nothing makes sense anymore, I don't know what's real, I..."

I started rambling in German, shaking and crying wet hot tears. My eyes were still closed.

"Girl...? Just sing something. One thing."

It was silent.

And finally, I opened my eyes.

The canary was not on her perch. And she was not eating her food at the bottom of the cage.

She was dead.

I had killed her.

I killed Canary.

"I... I fed you... I fed you, why are you... I did everything I was supposed to do... I..."

"That's what happened."

I turned around, and I screamed, stumbling back and falling. There Canary was again, this time, not in a dream, and not just a whistle in the deepest corners of my room at night, in the dark, when shadows danced and nightmares came.

"You did everything you were supposed to. You wore the gloves. And Canary is dead. I am dead."

His dull eyes smiled. "It's okay. I don't mind that my bird died. It wasn't your fault, and neither was all of this. If you hadn't said yes they would've killed you,"

"No," I shuffled back, as he came towards me, sinking down to my level and crawling closer.

"You were just keeping yourself alive, like in the war. I'm only one Jew."

"Nooo," I bumped the table that the cage was on, and they both fell next to me. The dead yellow canary was in the corner of my vision. I backed up against the wall and cried, my face contorted in painful sorrow.

"I forgive you, I said I forgive you. It's all okay," Canary cupped my cheek and shushed me, running his cold fingers through my hair. He was so fair, so perfect, even in death. An angel.

"Why did you have to die, why..."

"It was nothing that could be helped. It was one of us or both of us."

I looked at him hopelessly. "I should've run away with you. We could've gone to, to Britain."

"They're everywhere," Canary breathed, blinking tears away. "They're just everywhere, we couldn't have escaped them."

"Who are they?" I asked, so tired of not knowing why I killed an innocent man.

Canary whispered things to me that morning, things I could never hope to figure out on my own. Things only a dead man could say.

Ice was the new generation leader of an ages old underground slave selling service. They sold slaves for anything the buyer wanted. Jewish people were one of the best sellers, and right before Canary was to be sold, he and his family were shipped off to a concentration camp.

The service was pissed, and so were the buyers. They had to wait for years. The buyers left the deal.

The war ended, all the family members survived... except for the children. The most favorable to be sold. The service swore vengeance for those years of losing business.

Several murders, including the deaths of Canary's family, were covered up as hate crimes. Adam ran from several states, even tried leaving the country, until he was the only one left.

They took a different approach; make a friend, gain his trust. Me.

"I'm so sorry, you've been through so much–"

"It's okay. I'm okay now, good friend."

I was starting to get used to Canary's presence. I pulled him close and hugged him, silently saying sorry yet again, and he hugged back.

"You did it as quick as you could."

He was there for a while, and he whispered to me, and reassured me.

And I knew what to do. He brought me to my feet, holding my hands, and he led me towards the door. "No... I, the birds..."

"The birds will always be there, maybe not always so frequent. You just need to remember you can't let them get to you. They cannot hurt you."

I knew he was right. At least part of me did.

So it was me who opened the doorknob, and I didn't close my eyes.

Canary handed me the dead yellow bird, tiny in my hands, and I walked down the hall, downstairs, and out the building. There were birds falling, but less, and Canary sported a big yellow umbrella for us both.

We walked the dewy morning streets of Brooklyn, and out into the wooded area, where no one would look for Canary's body.

I remember moving some dirt by Canary's grave, digging with my hand until my fingernails were brown, and I put the yellow bird down into the hole, covering it back up and patting the dirt.

Canary wrapped an arm around my shoulder, and I leaned against him. He whistled, a canary song, and I saw the little yellow bird on his shoulder following his lead.

And despite the dead birds, I smiled.

And it was true, the falling dead birds stayed with me forever. They brought me to dark places over the years, tearing me apart and making me feel terrible about everything I had done. But Canary was there too, and he and his bird would whistle tunes for me sometimes, and they'd always make me feel better.

Last I heard, Jay shot Ice and brought the slave service to its knees. Apparently Jay had been a slave himself, as I suppose I had been as well, aside from the money I received, which, turns out I had to pay back.

Unfortunately, Jay was also a communist and a Russian, and when the Cold War came along he was arrested, and wrongfully died during an interrogation involving waterboarding and other forms of severe torture.

I never got the chance to ask him what his dead birds were. After killing, he must have had his own.

No one ever searched for Canary's body. Few even noticed he was gone, but Manhattan did notice an absence of joy in the post-war haze. The bar seemed quiet, the cafe lonely. And I did revisit these places, and when I went to the cafe I ordered decaf, and when I went to the bar I ordered a Shirley Temple.

My demons, my dead birds, may have followed me here, to this time, and this place, but I will not let them control or define me.

And my angels, Canary and his canary, will always be there with me too. They will sing their songs, they will talk sense into me when I need it. They will bring bright hot yellow sunshine into my life, even when all I see is gray, dead pigeons, with glaring, beady eyes.

And my niece and nephew will always hear about how I came back from the war and how I see dead birds and a dead man, and I'll always have to describe the difference to them, even when they're adults and they scoff at me, but I look at my brother, and I know he knows it's true.

All of us have our dead birds, and all of us have our canaries.

It's important you know to listen to the canary's song.


End file.
